


Stick in the Mud

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Belting, Complicated Consent, F/F, Role Switch, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26978269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: The Doctor and the Master run into each other in a prison cell, like you do.
Relationships: Dhawan!Doctor/Whittaker!Master, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	Stick in the Mud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zaffrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaffrin/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Zaff! I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed your fic, & that your birthday is as amazing as you are. <3

The Doctor was handcuffed to a pillar when a familiar face came swaggering in. And of course it was a swagger.

“Missy,” he began.

“Excuse you,” she said, leaning down so that she could look down into his face. “That’s Master to you.”

“You were Missy the last time I saw you,” he said, trying to get more comfortable. His arms were sore, his back at some odd angle. 

“Decided to change things up a bit,” she said, grasping the lapels of her coat and preening like a peacock. “Been due a bit of a shake up anyway.” She wrinkled her nose. “Shot to the back I took just hurried things along.”

“Oh,” the Doctor said. What was he supposed to say to that?

"You've got a new look as well, I see," she added, and she was in front of his face with a startling quickness. "Still haven't been able to afford an upgrade, then."

"You know regeneration doesn't work like that," the Doctor said, and he tried to school his features into flatness. _What was it that Yaz had said? The grey rock?_

"You're no fun, y'know that?" The Master took a step away from him, and she was pacing. Her shoes were surprisingly loud on the metal floor of the cell. "No fun at _all_." 

He just looked at her. She was very beautiful, but then again, she always was. Every face she wore always had some aspect that left him breathless. When he looked at her face, he saw the familiar madness, bubbling behind her eyes like an over boiling pot. There was a lot about her that drew the comparison, honestly. She never seemed to be still, as she paced, her hands fiddling with the chain of her watch or the buttons on her waistcoat. 

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten out of that set up yet," the Master added, indicating the handcuffs that were keeping his arms above his head.

"I'm getting to it," the Doctor said tersely. 

"They took your sonic, didn't they?" The Master grinned at him, all teeth and bright, burning eyes. "You're too reliant on that thing, y'know that?"

Actually, he'd been recovering from a pretty intense blow to the head. Really, he was lucky that she'd come here _now_ , instead of, say, two hours earlier. As it was, the headache had finally receded, and he was still getting his bearings. 

"Now," she said, and she leaned over him again, until they were almost forehead to forehead, "let's get a look at you, shall we?" She put a hand under his chin to make him look her in the face, and he made a point of not flinching away.

She stared into his face, taking in all of him, and she ran her fingers along his jaw, brushed his hair out of his eyes, traced over the line of his profile. 

"Are you quite done?" The Doctor kept his voice stiff. Even this close, he could catch little bits of her scent, and the fan of her blond hair across her face was catching his attention. 

He wasn't usually this... distracted, but he'd been lonely. The shock of seeing her again after all this time (… again), of her new face (again), of her showing up _here_ of all places (again) had left him fairly off balance. And he'd taken this trip on his own, since he didn't want to overwhelm the new companions with what was possibly a very dangerous situation. 

Didn't want a repeat of what happened to Bill, after all. 

"Nope," said the Master, and she _plopped herself in his lap_. 

The Doctor squawked in surprise in spite of himself, staring up at her. "What are you _doing_?" 

She was pressing close to him, her breasts soft against his chest. He could smell her hair - soap, smoke, beeswax, engine oil. "You look like a present, all wrapped up like that," she cooed, and she cupped his cheeks, her thumbs passing over his cheekbones. "Such a pretty face, this time 'round." 

He rolled his eyes, and he squirmed, trying to get her off of his lap. "Are you done?" He kept his voice cool, and tried to ignore the tightness that was starting to build up at the base of his gut. 

"You said that already," the Master said. She ruffled his hair, and she smiled, clearly pleased with herself. "You should cut your hair, or grow it longer, but stop keeping it at this length. You look like a moody teen and it makes me want to make you cry."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and he kept shifting. She had hooked her legs around his waist, and was... grinding. Oh god. 

"Why are you doing that?" He asked through gritted teeth. He was getting hard, because his cock had always been a traitor when it came to the Master, even before, when they were just Theta and Koschei. 

"I want to see what you've got to work with," she said, as her hand skated across his inner thigh, found the bulge of his cock and curled her hand around it, pressing it into his thigh. "Well," she said, "aren't you a big boy."

He hissed through his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut. He was shuddering, and his mouth had fallen open. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his hearts beating frantically against his ribs. He hadn't done much with that part of his anatomy - hadn't had the time, when there was always something else to do, something productive. 

"Very nice," the Master said, and she let go of him, standing up on her long legs. She was wearing checkered trousers to match her waistcoat, and she was holding... was that a key?

"Are you going to keep me tied up like this?" The Doctor kept his tone mild, bland.

"As fun as it would be," she said, leaning over and giving him a generous view of the swells of her breasts, "I've got more interesting plans." There was a click, and then the handcuffs sprang open. 

The Doctor slid his hands out, and he stood up on unsteady legs, wincing at the few seconds of pins and needles. "Thank you," he said, but he was eyeing her suspiciously. What was she planning.

"It's a lot more fun to do _this_ when you're upright," she said, and she grabbed the lapels of his coat and kissed him. 

The Doctor made a surprised noise, but he let her kiss him. One of his hands came up to cup her face,his palm against her soft, round cheek. She was so warm as she pressed against him, entirely too warm for a Gallifreyan. Had she always burned so fever hot, or just since the madness had infected her mind like so many maggots?

"I can feel you thinking," she said against his lips, and she pulled back, staring into his face. They were nearly the same height. "Didn't realize how short you were, this go 'round."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Needling me isn't going to get you anywhere, you know," he said. "I need to get out of here and deal with my _actual_ problems." _I don't have the stomach or the heart to deal with you right now_ , he didn't say, but maybe it flashed across his mind, because her whole face screwed up. 

She always had been a better telepath. 

"Have I been a bad girl, Doctor?" The Master said, and she stuck her lower lip out in a pout, fluttered her eyelashes at him. It was such an exaggerated mannerism, like something out of a cheesy porno, and of _course_ his traitorous cock had to twitch. 

"Master," the Doctor said, and he hated how strained he sounded. _Grey rock. Grey rock._

The Master swaggered over to the low table that had been just out of reach for him, resting her elbows across the surface of it and looking at him cheekily over her shoulder. "You should punish me," she said, and she wiggled her rear end at him.

He resisted the urge to scrub his face with his hands and groan. "We need to get out of here," he said, but he was taking a step towards her. Another. When was the last time he'd been any kind of intimate with anyone?

_When she had dark hair and a Scottish accent_ , whispered the part of his mind he tried to ignore. _Remember how good it felt, to sink into her, to hold her against you?_

"Ooh, so it's 'we' now, not just you?" She turned around, leaning her elbows back. He could see the long, lean expanse of her, and he licked his lips. Had he ever been this hard, in this body? He didn't think so. 

"Master," he said, and he still hated that title.

"Doctor," she said back, and she smiled like a shark. "Aren't you gonna punish me for how bad I've been?" She spread her legs a little wider. "I've been _ever_ so bad." She paused. "If you're worried about the guards busting in, don't worry. They're otherwise occupied." 

"What d'you mean by that?" The Doctor was walking towards her, and he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"I called in an emergency distress from the other side of the prison," the Master said. "I even refrained from killing them, since I know it'd upset you." 

He was close enough that she could have grabbed him now, and this was a bad idea, this was a horrible idea. "That was nice of you," he said, his voice dry.

"I did learn _something_ under your tutelage," she said, and she rolled her eyes. "But you're still as much of a stick in the mud as you ever were. Just as bad as -"

"Whatever you're thinking about saying, don't," said the Doctor, and his voice was coming out very calm. Unsettlingly so. 

"You _are_ a stick in the mud," the Master said. "You're boring. Boring, boring, boring." Each time she said "boring," she pushed her arse against his front. '

_I should walk away,_ he thought, as he grabbed her arse and gave it a squeeze. 

She gave a theatrical moan, and he drew his hand back and slapped it. 

_Why did I do that?_ The Doctor wondered, as she froze. _Should I apologize? What's the proper response for this type of thing?_

"Do it again," she said, and her voice was taunting, "but maybe like you mean it next time."

"You don't want me to hit you like I mean it," the Doctor ground out. 

"Sure I do," the Master said, and she ground against him. 

There was a sensation in his head, a little bit like something crumbling. He draped himself across her back, his hands going to her waist.

"Ooh, Doctor," she said, and it was somewhere between a squeal and a purr.

The Doctor found her belt, and he unbuckled it carefully. Then he stood up, and he yanked it by the buckle, pulling the whole leather mess of it out of the belt loops in doubling it over in his hand. 

_This is a bad idea_ , said all the rational parts of his mind, as he shoved her wool overcoat up, over her back. 

She squirmed, then shrugged out of it, letting it puddle on the ground. There was her long sleeved black shirt, her ridiculous trousers, her equally ridiculous waistcoat. 

"You want me to hit you like I mean it," the Doctor said, and he was talking through his teeth. "You really want that?"

"Let's get those lovely big hands of yours a little messy," the Master said, and then she was _dropping her trousers_. Her knickers went with them, and then she was bent over for him, trousers around her ankles, back still covered. 

_Why am I doing this?_ He stood behind her, looked at the pale expanse of her backside, at the pinkness of her cunt peeking out, at the elegant curve of her spine. _I need to walk away._

He drew his arm back, and he hit her with the belt. It was a proper hit too, a full _crack_. The stripe on her arse turned white, then flushed red. He landed another hit, almost on top of the first one, and she squealed, jerking forward. 

“Is that what you want?” He hit her with the belt again, lower down, and she _howled_. “You said to hit you like I mean it. Does it feel like I _fucking mean it_?” The rage that was boiling out of him was too much, too intense. He’d been better at keeping a cap on it, he needed to hold on. 

He wasn’t her. 

But he couldn’t seem to stop. He landed hit after hit, and she wasn’t screaming anymore, she was up on her tiptoes, sticking her arse in the air as she just took them. Her whole arse was turning red, and then it would turn purple. He caught himself, raising the belt again, and he paused. 

The moment crystalized - the sweat that was dripping down his sides, the way his hearts were beating in his head, the desperate hardness in his trousers and the slow ache in his arm from being handcuffed, from hitting her with the belt. He blinked, and then he was back to himself. He shuddered, dropping the belt, and it clattered.

The Master looked over her shoulder at him, and she frowned. “Why’d you stop?” She asked, and her voice was a low, petulant whine. 

It set another bolt of rage through him, and no, he wasn’t a person who was controlled by rage. He was older than civilizations and twice as smart. He was kind, he wasn’t… he didn’t just hit people out of rage.

And then he was pressing closer to her, grabbing her arse in his hands and _squeezing_ , feeling the hot flesh dimple. She ground it against him and moaned, and this one felt real - a hiccuping, awkward little sound. 

“Please,” the Master said. “Theta.” She was spreading her legs wider, and his hands slid between them, to cup her hot, wet cunt. It was like a coal in his hand, and when he squeezed she moaned harder, hard enough to vibrate through her back and up his chest where they were pressed together. 

He let go of her, and he unbuttoned his trousers, fished his cock out. He was absolutely sure that he was in control, that he was just doing this to placate her, that he could stop any time he wanted.

That certainty vanished like ice in a frying pan when he pushed inside of her. He gasped, pressing his forehead against her shoulder, still draped over her, his coat covering the both of them. He was all the way inside of her, and she clenched around him like a fist.

The Doctor groaned, and he pressed his face into her neck. He was abrading her with his stubble, and he was pressing against her tender backside. He probably shouldn’t have, should have been more careful, should have pulled out in the first place. Should have just walked away from all of this.

“Such a big boy,” she cooed, and she gave a little hip wiggle. One of her hands had moved down between her legs, and she was rubbing her clit as she pressed herself back into his thrusts. She was so hot and wet inside, silky and clenching each time she brushed over her clit, and that made his cock flex inside of her. 

He held the cheeks of her arse open, and he took a nasty little pleasure at how hot they were under his fingers. The flesh dimpled under his grip, and the purple color turned to white. He watched his cock slide in and out of her cunt, watched it stretched thin around him, taking the whole of it, then try to keep him in as he pulled out again. The sight was too much, and he let go, to press closer to her again, over her back.

She jerked when his hand covered hers, and his bigger fingers began to rub her clit. He remembered how Missy had liked to be touched, with a firm little figure eight, and she groaned guttarly, squeezing him so tight he was half afraid he’d pop like a balloon. Then she was whimpering, her hips trying to buck under the weight of him (and even if they were almost the same height, he was still broader than she was), and she was pulsing around him like a heartbeat.

The Doctor was as deep inside of her as he could get as he came, the pleasure twisting in his guts like a pitchfork. He made a desperate, groaning noise into the back of her neck as his cock spat come deep inside of her, and her cunt seemed to squeeze more out of him, almost to the point of pain.

“Well,” the Master said, her voice surprisingly chipper for someone as sweaty and squashed as she was, “maybe not quite as much of a stick in the mud as I thought.”

He tried to fight back the surge of shame that washed over him like a wave, and he pressed his face into her neck and sighed. He would need to get up and deal with… all of it, soon. But he could take this moment, with his oldest friend.

He was allowed that, at the very least.


End file.
